


In Another World, Another Time

by kayisdreaming



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Azure Moon Spoilers, Brave Claude, Crimson Flower Spoilers, M/M, Verdant Wind Spoilers, background sylvix, legendary & brave Dimitri, references to deaths canon to those paths, same characters in multiple universes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:47:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29382285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayisdreaming/pseuds/kayisdreaming
Summary: Claude hadn’t expected it would be easy to adapt to Askr. What he had expected the least, however, was that he'd see Dimitri again. And not just that, but more than one.OR Claude falls into Askr and tries to come to terms with his feelings on Dimitri, even though he knows Dimitri's no longer around in his world.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 27
Kudos: 119





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Raffle prize from the Long Live zine for [@natbucks](https://twitter.com/natbucks)! Thank you for your support!

Claude hadn’t expected it would be easy to adapt to Askr. In one moment, he was stepping into his room after arguing with his council for hours in Almyra, and in the next he was standing in front of a cloaked figure in the middle of some strange ritual site. Instinct screamed at him to run, knowing he was at an immense disadvantage surrounded by people he didn’t know and couldn’t predict. And yet . . . he didn’t. 

Instead, he found himself introducing himself like they were old friends. He found himself allying with their cause. He found himself in the midst of battle again and again, fighting alongside people he didn’t know and shouldn’t reasonably trust—without even a reason. 

No—there was _some_ explanation—but it hardly counted by sheer absurdity. He was among heroes torn from their own homes to protect a land that served as a link between all worlds. Being here protected their homelands. Even so, it was unclear what impact their absence had. And it was even less clear if they’d retain their memories if they were ever allowed to go back home. It wasn’t even clear _when_ they’d get to go back, if ever. 

Not knowing was miserably tantalizing. 

Fortunately, he could find some distraction in the faces of those he thought he’d never see again. 

There was Hilda, for instance, who complained every time she was sent out on a mission—and even tried to get others to do her work for her when she was volunteered for local events. He’d not had much opportunity to see her in his own world, not when their roles put them in an ambiguous position between ally and enemy. 

And there were the former Knights of Seiros, who still seemed as disinclined to entertain his questions as they had been back home. He’d tried once with Seteth, only to face the same brick wall he had as a kid. Not that he really expected to _learn_ anything that he didn’t already know. 

But even the amusement of reliving old memories couldn’t dispel the pain of seeing those he’d thought lost to him forever. 

There was Lysithea (two of them, actually), her nose literally stuck in a book as she fell asleep studying late into the night. There was Petra, treating Askr’s borders like the most fascinating hunting ground. There was Annette, singing her cute little songs as she bounced from greenhouse to greenhouse, practically spinning as she did so. 

And there was Edelgard, very much the emperor she had strived to be. She was different here, not as cold or as cruel, but being around her left him on edge. Perhaps she had been different due to the Professor’s influence—as much as he imagined he was in _her_ world. He had no desire to find out the degree to which that was true. 

Perhaps more startling, though, was that there was Dimitri. _Many_ Dimitris, in fact. While both Claude and Edelgard only had to face their past selves, there were three of him. All with vastly different paths in front of them. But they were all, at their core, _Dimitri_. And it was almost too difficult to bear. 

But even _that_ wasn’t the worst thing. 

The worst thing had him hurrying through the halls, rounding corners as tight as he could in a desperate bid to escape. 

The worst thing was himself. Well, his younger self, to be precise. 

He’d known it would be a mess the moment he saw that Academy uniform, that perfectly-sculpted smile that feigned a lazy disinterest. He’d known in the way his younger self’s eyes seemed to gleam the second their gazes caught, like a cat that was about to pounce on the most delectable mouse. 

By all accounts it was predictable, reasonable even. He’d once craved anything that could achieve his dream, anything that gave him an advantage in a world that was so often shutting him out. Who better to get his answers from than his future self?

And that kid had most certainly _tried_. He used every opportunity he could possibly fabricate. His schemes were on a level that even Claude had to envy.

He’d only barely been saved by Lysithea’s cold interference. Of course, he figured her warning was as much for him as it had been for the younger Claude—they had all agreed, after all, that they would divulge nothing to their younger selves. There was no guarantee that they wouldn’t remember everything when they went back home. There was a good chance that, if they did, then it could damage the world irreparably. 

Claude wasn’t dumb. He also didn’t doubt that Lysithea would incinerate him on the spot if she even suspected that he’d spilled the beans to himself. 

Besides, he was sure that what he knew now wouldn’t have benefitted him back then. It wouldn’t have prevented the future, and it wouldn’t have saved the others. If anything, it probably would have had him executed for heresy.

But even telling the younger him _that_ was a problem. Even _that_ was too revealing. 

So, when he saw that uniform standing right outside his room, he turned on his heel. He shouldn’t have been surprised to hear footsteps tailing behind him. His pace changed from a walk, to a jog, to a full run. Anything to catch a break. 

True, he could try any of the numerous doors along this hall. Some would be occupied—at least by a Bernadetta or another similar recluse. Or maybe by someone exhausted and weary. But he couldn’t try them all. He’d definitely be caught by the time anyone rose to answer their door—if someone was indeed in there—and even lockpicking would take too long. It was a risk he couldn’t take. 

A part of him was berating himself for not just poisoning the other him’s food. Something minor . . . like a stomach illness for a week or so. He’d get the message, probably. That was, if he didn’t get one of the hundreds of healers to help him, and if he wasn’t already monitoring his food for such an attempt. 

The other part of him was looking for any sort of salvation. An open window, a small crowd, anything. And he found it surprisingly quickly: a door left just slightly open, just at the end of the hall. Left by a careless wanderer, someone with nothing to fear in a land full of heroes. 

Well, a small invasion of privacy was _their_ problem. 

He slid in with one smooth movement, shutting the door firmly behind him. His back pressed against the doorway, breath a little ragged and uneven. Even if his younger self had seen him retreat, there was no way he’d force himself in. Claude at least had the advantage of strength there. He could hide out here for hours, if he had to. 

Except for one thing—one _critical_ thing—he realized as his eyes fell across the room. 

The room wasn’t unoccupied.

There, in the middle of the room, was Dimitri. The man had been putting on his armor—a black armor that Claude knew far too well, that could still remember as well as he had on that last day—fingers fumbling with one of the claps of that ragged fur cape. Emphasis on ‘had been _’_ ; currently, his single blue eye was fixed directly on Claude, frozen entirely in place. 

What was that saying about a frying pan and fryer? 

Claude slid into a smile, hoping the expression wasn’t as hollow on his face as it felt in his chest. “You’re . . . not Lysithea.” He said, voice light. 

Dimitri blinked. “No, I am not.”

It was strange, how much Dimitri could look so much like the one Claude knew. It had been so long, but Claude could still remember Dimitri on the battlefield, his yells a roar as he pursued the emperor. Time had been cruel to him then, unkind even in the way it stole his life away. 

The man here was different. He wasn’t some unhinged warrior, instead thoughtful as he looked down at Claude. His lips parted as if he wished to speak, but even that seemed to be an overly considerate action as he thought better of it. Instead, he finished fastening his cloak, the furs untarnished by dirt or ash. 

But of course it was different. This Dimitri was alive. And Claude’s wasn’t. 

“Right.” Claude nodded, clearing his throat. “You know, I wasn’t sure. Probably would have been polite to knock. I’ll remember that next time.”

Dimitri visibly swallowed, mouth opening once more to attempt _something_ —only to be interrupted by a firm knock on the door. 

Claude struggled to repress his groan, instead running his hand down his face. Yes, he was definitely going to make use of that poison. Maybe multiple times, just until his younger version— 

“Claude,” Dimitri’s hand settled softly on his shoulder, his voice just as gentle, “if you would please step aside.”

Claude couldn’t argue, not if he wanted to keep some semblance of his pride intact. He nodded, feet feeling heavy like lead as he stepped from the door. 

Dimitri smiled, opening the door with little hesitation—though he didn’t open it all the way. Instead, it was only enough to stand in, his body blocking much of the entry. His foot rested firmly behind the door itself, an inherent obstacle against any forced intrusion. 

“Well hello, Your Kingliness.” The younger Claude’s voice was unbearably cheery, bright in a way that had Claude wincing. 

Dimitri’s tone was pleasant. Claude could almost imagine the restrained smile on his face. “Hello Claude. Is there something I can help you with?”

“I hope so. You haven’t seen the other me around, have you?”

Dimitri hummed thoughtfully. “No, I don’t believe I have.”

“You . . . haven’t?” There was a small pause. “Huh.”

“I would recommend the wyvern stables. I recall he expressed some concern for his not too long ago.”

“Uh, right.” A cough. “Thanks.”

“Any time, Claude.”

Dimitri was surprisingly calm as he shut the door—not rushed, but not lingering as one would if he worried the younger menace might not leave. Of course, Claude couldn’t deny the ease in his chest when the latch clicked. 

Claude chuckled, letting himself fall back against the doorframe as he crossed his arms. “You used to be an awful liar.” 

Well, that was perhaps somewhat true. Even Claude had fallen for the whole illusion, completely ignorant to the burdens beneath Dimitri’s smile. 

But those were old memories he didn’t wish to drudge up again, not when he was certain he had buried them completely. Instead, he let his smile turn charming. “You always got so flustered.”

A small blush dusted Dimitri’s cheeks, and he stepped back across the room toward the remainder of his gear. “I am still . . . poor at it.”

“Could have fooled me.”

Dimitri glanced over at him before returning his attention to his greaves. “Perhaps it is because I empathize. I am also . . . uncertain when it comes to speaking with a younger version of myself.”

Claude laughed, walking across the room and leaning against Dimitri’s desk. There were a few books there, just some small histories—nothing as extensive as Claude’s growing collection. “You should consider yourself lucky. At least yours is cute and charming.”

Even at this angle, Claude could see the blush darken slightly at the tips of Dimitri’s ears.

Of course, perhaps he should consider himself lucky. If it was the younger Dimitri pursuing him, he wasn’t sure he could deny the boy’s pursuit. He’d been strong against his charm as a youth—well, as strong as one could expect to be against the literal epitome of princeliness—but he was certain nostalgia would make him weak. If anything, he’d probably spill _something_ if it meant it could spare Dimitri from the fate Claude was far too familiar with. 

“I don’t believe I need voice it,” Dimitri’s voice broke through his thoughts, “but you are welcome to come here should you need . . . an escape.”

Claude’s gaze snapped over. Dimitri was looking at him, perhaps too sincerely. His smile was soft, pleasant. His hands were still in front of him, but that was only because he was very clearly struggling not to fidget. 

Maybe Claude would visit again—if only to escape in more ways than one. 

~

Claude’s visits had, perhaps in spite of his own pride, occurred far more than once. Sometimes he went to escape himself. Sometimes he went to lend Dimitri books he thought the other might find interesting. Sometimes he went to check on—and tend to—the man when his injuries were far too noticeable after a hard fight. Sometimes they just talked—nothing exceptionally personal or important—just idle conversation to enjoy each other’s presence. 

Sometimes they didn’t even need to be in the confines of Dimitri’s room to meet.

“I admit,” Dimitri said, taking another bite of his meal, “I did not expect Felix and Sylvain to take so well to this place.” 

Claude leaned back in his chair, sipping at a mild ale. The tavern here was hardly famous for its drinks, but the food was decent and the place always warm. It was a comfortable place to be, especially after they had spent the better part of an hour knee-deep in the snow. Claude was sure he’d never regain feeling in his fingertips. 

“I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised.” DImitri sighed, shaking his head fondly. “They’ve always adapted better when together.”

Claude shrugged. “Opposites attract, apparently.” He attempted to hide his smile, but it was pointless. As if anyone could deny their natures with how the summoner had them dressed. Sylvain’s sunny personality in beachwear was just as laughable as Felix’s frigid disposition in winter garb. 

Dimitri smiled, clearly thinking of the same thing. “It’s a balance. I believe it has helped their relationship immensely back home.”

Claude raised an eyebrow. “They’re together in your world?”

Dimitri nodded, his smile bright. “Married.”

Perhaps it shouldn’t have surprised him. While they had their differences, Claude had even known back then that Sylvain and Felix were too loyal to leave Dimitri’s side. While he had prodded the Professor on multiple occasions when it came to _other_ students, he discouraged even bothering with them. After all, what good were allies whose loyalties certainly rested somewhere else?

He’d been right, too, in the worst way possible. They had fought alongside an enraged Dimitri, their determination and drive admirable. Their loyalty had forced them to their graves on that blazing field. They probably never even had a chance to consider that bond between them. 

Maybe if he had done something different, they might have survived. Maybe, if they lived, they would have gotten married, like they had in Dimitri’s world. 

He set his mug back on the table, resting his elbows against the surface and lacing his fingers together so he might rest his chin there. He didn’t want to think about it—he dwelled on it enough these days. 

Curiosity was a decent distraction. And the question had been prodding at the back of his mind for weeks now. “Okay, so they’re married. You’re a king.” He smiled. “What about the other me?”

Dimitri stilled, expression falling. Slowly, his fork went to his plate. He looked away, lips pressed together firmly. 

Ah, so he’d died then. That was reasonable, considering the bloody path Claude had left behind himself. It was just as likely that he’d been in the way in Dimitri’s world. Perhaps—

“I don’t know.” Dimitri muttered. 

Claude blinked. “What?”

Dimitri exhaled in one long rush of air. “I came to your aid in Deidru, when the Empire had you and your men pinned. I thought—,” he shook his head, “it doesn’t matter. You left for Almyra, leaving Failnaught with the Professor. I . . . had not heard what became of you. I wished we might speak once more, but . . .”

Claude frowned. If Dimitri’s Claude had gone to Almyra, then certainly he would have pursued the same path as Claude had. His bow wasn’t necessary to claim what was his. Even so, it had taken Claude a long time to claim the country. Without his experience with the Professor, it would take even longer—but it wouldn’t be impossible. So, possibly, Dimitri hadn’t known _yet_ , because Claude wasn’t king, _yet_. 

And, someday, that Claude would have to try to negotiate something between a unified Fodlan and Almyra if he wanted his dream to come true. Someday, Dimitri would see Claude once more. 

“You haven’t looked for him?” Claude prodded. 

“I tried.” Dimitri looked . . . pained. Like every word out of Claude’s mouth was an arrow to the chest. Eventually, Claude would manage something that would leave him to bleed out. 

It was cruel to continue the line of questioning. To keep prodding in the hopes he’d find an answer he wanted—even if he didn’t know _what_ he wanted. But, perhaps, he’d find it—stumble upon it with just one lucky word. 

He opened his mouth, but was immediately cut off.

“You mentioned that I died in your world.” Dimitri said. His head was still low, looking up at Claude through his lashes. 

Claude felt each word like an icicle in his veins. He nodded. Looking away would give away more than he wanted to give. He could only hope that his voice could remain steady, even as the memory tore at his chest once more. “At Gronder.”

Dimitri swallowed. “May I ask what happened?”

Claude shrugged. “I was outmaneuvered.” That was true enough. He had thought they’d have some help allying themselves with the Faerghans against Edelgard. But she had turned the terrain against them. “By the time I realized where you were going—what you’d do—it was too late.”

He could still remember Hilda’s words. Even then, though, he could hardly believe them. He wanted to see it for himself—wanted to know it wasn’t true—but it wasn’t allowed. It was too risky: the battlefield was still a disaster, and his men couldn’t risk Claude joining the dead. He had to accept it, had to just believe that there was nothing he could have done to save an old friend. Had to close off his heart because he could not fight the inevitable. 

It was a lot harder to do with Dimitri in front of him. 

~

Claude yawned, barely hiding it behind his hand. Lorenz would probably have his head for his manners (or lack thereof), but it wasn’t like anyone was really keeping track here. There were a million kings and a hundred flavors of royalty—he imagined most of them wanted to disregard such stuffy rules, too. 

“Was the battle not stimulating enough, Claude?” Dimitri stepped up beside him, a fond smile on his lips. 

Claude smiled, stretching his arms behind his head. “Maybe if _someone_ didn’t take out all my targets before I could.”

Dimitri’s chuckle was soft on his exhale, almost inaudible, but Claude had gotten really good at spotting it as of late. “I shall bear that in mind.”

Claude laughed. “I don’t mind you fighting for me. So long as you stay intact, anyway.”

Dimitri’s smile turned fond. “I trust I will, especially with you watching my back.”

Heat rushed to Claude’s cheeks in spite of his will. To save himself, he looked away, as if something there had caught his attention. 

But there was no salvation to be found there, either. No, there was _another_ Dimitri, laughing as he entertained a few nabatean-like children. He was a bit older than Claude was, more refined and comfortable as king compared to the Dimitri by Claude’s side. 

And, as Claude learned early on, _very_ happily married. 

He had guessed that there was _something_ between this older Dimitri and the other him, even from the first time he met. There was something about the way the other man looked at him that looked absolutely pained. Claude had avoided him for a while—already finding dealing with _one_ Dimitri almost too much for his heart—but of course all Dimitris seemed to revel in ruining his plans. 

An idle conversation had very nearly torn Claude’s heart in two. It wasn’t that Claude made him uncomfortable, or that the memory was unpleasant—quite the opposite, in fact. Claude and _Dima_ (he was absolutely insistent Claude call him that) were happily married and had two children that they doted on endlessly. 

Claude never thought it was possible to envy someone so much until he envied this other him. 

Distraction. He needed a distraction. 

“I hear that you is a family man.” He said, nodding toward Dima. 

Dimitri glanced over, the edge of his smile fading just slightly. He nodded, but it was stiff. “Yes. I imagine he’s quite impatient to get home.”

Claude grinned, elbowing Dimitri playfully in the ribs. “What about you? Someone waiting for you back home?”

Dimitri flushed, glancing away with a sheepish smile. “No . . . no I don’t believe so.”

Claude gasped dramatically, leaning closer like it was a secret meant to be shared between them. “Impossible. I can’t believe it.”

Dimitri’s flush deepend. “Mock me all you wish, but it’s true.”

“I truly don’t believe it.” Claude grinned. “The hero of Fodlan? The savior king? How could someone _not_ wait for you—praying for the day you return home to their arms?”

Dimitri looked like a man long-suffering. “Claude . . .” 

“ _I_ certainly would.” Claude smiled, nudging Dimitri once more. His grin widened as Dimitri rubbed the back of his neck, face as red as Claude had ever seen it. He wondered how much more he could push before DImitri flustered into an incomprehensible state. He’d never managed it before, but it would be fun to try. “Come on, you can’t—”

“Is someone waiting for you, then?” Dimitri interrupted. His gaze fixed on Claude, intense. His blush had diminished rapidly—or perhaps that was because that _look_ had Claude’s heart already thrumming in his chest. 

It was unfair that it was that easy. 

Then again, Claude had gotten used to Dimitri having that effect on him. He couldn’t hide his own blush, but he could hide behind smiles and teases. Dimitri never seemed to notice. 

“Me?” He asked, laughing like it was perhaps the most amusing joke all evening. “No one.”

“What?” Dimitri’s expression fell straight into a scowl. “How? Why?”

Claude shrugged, shifting his attention to the way his footsteps echoed on the stone halls. “Things happen in war.”

The scowl dissolved into something sad, painful even. “They died.” It wasn’t even a question, just a matter of fact. Like Dimitri could read and understand Claude better than anyone in the world. 

Claude hummed a response. Saying that Dimitri had died was like saying the world ending was akin to spilling a glass of milk. Claude had dreamed of a great many things since the initial fall of Garreg Mach. He dreamt of how the Professor would come back, how his friends would have survived through the conflict, how he and Dimitri would join sides to stop Edelgard, how they could work together to make a better world. 

It wasn’t fair—the world never was. In Dima’s world, there was a Claude who had everything he could ever want. In Dimitri’s world, there was still a chance for Claude to get what he wanted. And yet, here, Claude never even had a hope. It shattered before he could even hold it for a moment in his hands. 

He sighed, glancing back at Dimitri. “Don’t give me that look.” He said, smiling softly. “It’s not that bad. I have a lot of things to focus on back home. It doesn’t bother me that much.”

Dimitri at least looked less hurt, but his expression didn’t brighten. “I envy you for that.” He muttered. “I find . . . I cannot help but think about it sometimes. When I am alone.”

Whoever this person was, Claude was _not_ keen that he had yet another person to envy. “You should pursue them, when you get back home.” He said, voice soft. Like his body rejected the very notion, and fought him for spiting it. “I can’t imagine anyone would turn _you_ down.”

Dimitri finally, _finally_ , smiled. “Perhaps I shall.”

~

Claude yawned, his foot tapping in the air as he read, his back pressed against the headboard of Dimitri’s bed. There wasn’t much to read, really. Despite the fact that Askr was capable of so many things, their own history was agonizingly boring. There wasn’t anything he could glean from it that would help his home, and little strategically from their standard forces that could be adapted to his own strategy. Their greatest victories came from their summoner, whose prowess was really at the center of everything. But he already had that with Byleth. 

He sighed, shutting the pointless tome and setting it on the nightstand.

“I wish I had been more prepared.” Dimitri sighed, sitting at the edge of his bed. He’d been tending to his lance for two hours now, when care barely required a sixth of that. 

“Can’t blame you. I didn’t bring anything, either.” Claude sighed again, crawling down the bed to sit beside Dimitri. It was awful if he thought weapon care was more interesting than reading—even if he had read that book several times over by now. “Who’d have thought they’d gang up on us?”

To be fair, he should have expected it. Claude was nosy by nature, and Dimitri would do anything if it would keep his country safe. Their younger selves would be that tenfold, without experience or age to temper their worst habits. And _together_. . .

“Imagine if we’d joined sides that early.” Claude grinned, nudging Dimitri with his elbow. “We would have been undefeatable.”

“Yes,” Dimitri smiled, shaking his head, “we certainly would have been formidable.”

Claude laughed. True, they certainly would have been quite the threat. Then again, considering everything, it wouldn’t have lasted for too long. Rhea would have stepped in—concerned that the alliance promised more worrisome things—or Byleth would, if only to keep some sanity among her students. Their alliance would have turned into something quiet, something personal. 

Claude wondered if that would have been such a bad thing. 

“Do you ever regret it?” He asked, voice low. “That we didn’t?”

“I am uncertain we could have.” Dimitri muttered. He didn’t look at Claude—didn’t look at much of anything, really—his gaze far-off and distant. “I don’t believe you ever let anyone close to you. And I . . . I suppose I wasn’t much different.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Hm, that’s true.” Dimitri tilted his head, considering. “I suppose I do regret it. Often, I wonder if . . .”

Claude blinked. “Yeah?”

Dimitri looked away. “It’s unimportant. It doesn’t matter.”

Claude laughed, leaning closer as he prodded Dimitri once more. “Come on, Your Majesty. Let’s hear it.”

Dimitri’s voice was soft, barely loud enough for Claude to know that he _was_ actually speaking words. He just couldn’t figure out _what_. 

And then Dimitri turned, and Claude realized just how _close_ they were. 

He laughed weakly. “Sorry. I—”

Dimitri didn’t let him finish that thought. Too quickly he was closing the gap between them, his lips pressed insistently against Claude’s. 

But there was something gentle about it. Something absolutely soft in the way Dimitri’s hand cupped his cheek, thumb stroking over Claude’s cheekbone. The kiss was all in innocence—sweet and wholly chaste—and yet there was something desperate behind it all. 

Perhaps it was that neither of them wanted to pull away. 

But they had to breathe sometime. And Claude had the weaker lungs. He pulled away slightly, lips ghosting against Dimitri’s as he caught his breath. 

“Yeah, I think you’re right.” Claude whispered, voice fond. “If we’d teamed up, we _definitely_ would have kissed.”

Dimitri’s smile was so endearing that Claude was pretty sure his heart would thrum out of his chest. His voice was light—words just edged with unease. “Do you regret we didn’t?”

Claude hummed, his tongue running over his lower lip. Their kiss hadn’t been deep enough for him to be able to taste Dimitri, but he was _definitely_ imagining it now. “Can’t regret something you never had the chance to choose.”

Dimitri hummed, eye fixed on Claude’s tongue. “Would you have, if I survived in your world?”

 _Yes_. A thousand times yes. If he could go in the past and tell himself to try harder, to act smarter, he would have. If he’d not been a fool and not been outplayed, then he _could_ have had everything. He could have avoided being the only Claude forever barred from his Dimitri. 

His fingers curled hard into Dimitri’s cape. The answer was so simple, and yet he couldn’t voice it. 

So he chose to speak with his lips, pressing into another kiss. 

He wanted this more than words could say. He wanted to have everything—wanted Dimitri to be his, wanted a kingdom that finally accepted him, wanted a world that was no longer trying to destroy itself in petty conflict. And here, in a world that was not his own, he could pretend that it was within his reach. 

The more he let himself think about it, the more desperate his kisses became. It had him crawling into Dimitri’s lap, desperate for contact anywhere he could manage—the contact the only proof he had that this was real. It had his fingers curling tightly into Dimitri’s hair, deepening the kiss as much as Dimitri would allow—and Dimitri yielded everything Claude asked for. There was no resistance, no hesitation—it was as if he wanted everything Claude did, but had no idea how to ask. 

Claude only pulled away once his lungs were desperate for air once more. The oxygen brought some sense back to his brain. 

“Tell me,” he panted, “I’m not the one you wanted back home.”

Dimitri’s hand slid along Claude’s hip, finding purchase along his lower back. He pulled Claude closer, eliminating any remaining space between them. His other hand fisted into Claude’s shirt, like he was afraid Claude would flee the moment he was let go. 

And that eye looked up at him in utter adoration. “More than anything.” He whispered. 

It was bizarre for something to be wonderful and agonizing at the same time. It had Claude nearly choke on a laugh, pressing kisses along Dimitri’s throat just so he couldn’t cry. 

“Tell him.” He whispered against Dimitri’s skin, nipping there to leave even the smallest sign to remind himself later that this was real. “When you get home, tell him. _Please_.”

Dimitri’s fingers curled tighter into Claude’s shirt.

“I promise,” Claude ran his tongue over a mark that was definitely going to wind up darker than he intended, “he wants you, too.”

Dimitri nodded stiffly. “I promise.” He muttered, voice soft. 

Claude smiled against his skin. 

“But . . .” Dimitri’s hand uncurled from the front of Claude’s shirt, fingertips instead brushing up his chest before finding purchase just beneath Claude’s chin. Gently—far more gentle than a man of his strength had any right to be—he tipped Claude’s chin up to kiss him once more. He sighed contentedly against Claude’s lips. “But for tonight . . . can I have you?”

Claude swallowed, throat dry. Logically, he knew he needed to refuse. Every touch was another reminder of how empty his bed—his heart, even—would be back home. Every kiss was a reminder that soon he’d have his last one. Every soft word was a reminder that he’d never hear them from his own Dimitri. 

But for one night, just one, he could push that away. He could pretend that nothing existed past the press of lips against his skin, the warmth of the very-alive Dimitri in his arms. He could trick himself, for just one night. 

“Please.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains alternate perspectives for Chapter 1: Academy Claude and Dimitri. Perspectives are labeled when they switch.

_ Claude _

There was something inherently thrilling about Askr. It was very much Claude’s dream come to life—multitudes of different lands, cultures, and beliefs all brought together for a single cause. People cooperated because they had the freedom to, literally unshackled by the constraints of their homes. So many new things, unfathomable things, from the mere fact that so much could grow from such strong foundations. It was _inspiring_.

Admittedly, Claude had been concerned at first. He was, after all, the first of Fodlan to come to Askr. He was the one harassed almost endlessly about his own world by Askr’s princess, forced to divulge even the most inane information with a smile.

To his luck, that started changing when the others came. Edelgard and Dimitri—when they _finally_ arrived—were far more forthcoming with the ways of Fodlan; they became the target of Askr’s curiosity. Lysithea came, too; her inquiries into Askr’s library helped refine the focus of his research. Hilda’s presence was nothing less than perfection; she covered for him in his many absences, her nonchalance giving away little of their game.

But then Dimitri— _King_ Dimitri—came, and Claude’s world shifted once again.

Seeing past and future versions of themselves was of little surprise. After all, Claude had seen it with a great many of his fellow heroes. True, many of them struggled to come to terms with themselves. Once the shock wore off, though, their relationships seemed like that of old friends.

King Dimitri, though, flipped that theory on its head. He was amiable, sure—but that much was to be expected. Just about _everyone_ was amiable here, if only to keep from conflicts with others. But upon observation (and Claude observed him quite keenly), King Dimitri seemed more reserved than his younger counterpart. More notably, he looked worn and exhausted, like sleep was a rarity and his burdens weighed heavily on his shoulders. Dimitri looked like he had personally seen his Faerghan underworld and barely crawled back out of it.

Claude had a million questions. What had happened? How did he lose the eye? Did something bad happen in Faerghus? What about Fodlan?

But he never had the chance to ask. It was like every time there was an opportunity, the man was nowhere to be seen. It was amazing how that man could make himself so hard to find.

Just as he was about to conjure a new scheme, everything was forced to a halt. It had to be; after all, his elder self next came through that portal.

While his curiosity around King Dimitri was nothing more than that—simple curiosity—it was different with his elder self. Answers from Dimitri might give him a vague shadow of the truth, but most of it would be derived from guesswork. Dimitri wouldn’t understand the depth of Claude’s questions, or even begin to fathom the scope of his aspirations. His answers would be sincere and true, probably, but unlikely to be of any use. And Claude needed something that would give him an advantage, not just ambiguous facts. If this older Claude was anything like his past self, then surely he would be overeager to share. Surely he would do anything to bring their dream closer.

At first, he’d assumed none of his usual scheming would be necessary. Their shared history would make them understand each other and perhaps allow them to work more easily together. A casual display of interest, and he’d be barraged with everything he could ever want to know.

Instead, Claude only gained the bitter taste of disappointment; the moment his elder self saw him, the man turned away. No, not just turned away— _fled_. A blink, and he was gone.

Initially, it seemed like an accident. Claude was willing to believe that something else had caught his elder’s attention. He was willing to entertain the thought that there were so many people here that his other self had simply been unable to recognize Claude’s presence.

But he wasn’t a fool to believe that more than once. Claude _knew_ , quite quickly, he was actively being avoided. As such, it seemed only fair to discard all niceties and let his scheming begin.

His first scheme was more of a test, really. After all, he was well aware that the summoner and his comrades were more focused on protecting Askr than bothering with any interpersonal issues. So, as long as he wasn’t obvious, he was sure they’d oblige any of his requests.

And they did. They entertained his notion of fighting alongside his future self, if merely for self-improvement. While they could not endorse both being on the battlefield together—too many archers left too many vulnerabilities—they could encourage some cooperation. And so he’d been thrilled to learn that they would be doing scouting missions together. Little combat would be expected, leaving plenty of opportunity for them to chat.

But that had backfired splendidly.

Before he could even _pretend_ that he wasn’t out to siphon information from himself, the other insisted that the scouting group split. The fliers toward the west, the cavalry and infantry to the east. The man reasoned that they would be able to cover more ground that way, perhaps get to head home early. And—as it was indeed a logical plan—Claude had no choice but to acquiesce.

And the fliers, he learned, were done hours before his unit. They already dispersed by the time he got back to the castle. The other Claude had escaped his grasp like sand through fingers.

All that meant, though, was that he had to narrow his elder’s space for escape. It required just a touch more cleverness.

So, once again, he went to the summoner. With a charming smile, he spoke about his riding skills, how the Professor had insisted he stick to horses before he tried anything more dangerous. He bemoaned it, certain that the monastery was imposing the restriction for no proper reason. He admitted that most people didn’t respect the creatures like they needed to, but he was different; he knew the inherent risks. He accepted the potential consequences. But he also imagined they both craved the same freedom in the sky, riding the wind among the clouds and birds. He just wouldn’t know for sure unless he got to see one up close.

As expected, the summoner suggested that Claude join his elder for some of his chores. After all, the man was in the wyvern’s stables almost daily, often to care for his mount and to keep the pens clean. If Claude helped, then certainly his elder would allow him some moments to familiarize himself with the wyvern.

Claude grinned, playing it off as a brilliant thought that simply hadn’t occurred to him.

That, however, had ended in utter failure as well. He was left there by himself, with no wyvern to tend to and everyone else entirely clueless as to where his elder self had gone. Since he had volunteered for the chores, however, he’d been ‘encouraged’ to see them through.

Claude exhaled roughly as he stood outside his elder’s room. An ache resonated from his spine through to his toes, unyielding even as he tried to shift his weight. He hardly did his _own_ chores back home—his body certainly wasn’t keen on doing someone else’s. He was certain that the other Claude was having a hearty laugh about out-scheming the younger schemer.

Claude’s lip curled just at the edge. That Claude could laugh all he wanted; all that man did was tighten the net around him.

Before, the man could be justified in his annoyance. He had excuse aplenty. But not now. Not when someone else had to do his work for him. Claude had every right to chew his older self out for being irresponsible—and if a few inquiries snuck in during the lecture, then it really was little more than paying him back for the trouble.

His knuckles rapped lightly against the door.

From what he had gathered, Lysithea expected to review some tomes with the elder Claude within the next hour. Which meant he had to be in here, if only to mitigate the chance of her being crushed by a pile of books (if Claude did, indeed, still have that messy habit when he was older).

No answer.

He sighed. Technically speaking, there was no reason to rush it, and no real purpose to making a scene. It wasn’t like they were on the first floor (it was the fifth), so there was nowhere for the man to go without attracting too much attention. Still, the knowledge did little to quell Claude’s impatience.

He glanced down at the lock. It wouldn’t take much—not even any special tool—to get the lock open. The doors here didn’t align perfectly, leaving just enough gap to slide the latch open. A letter-opener, or thin dagger, and he’d be set. And, while hidden knives had been discouraged at the Academy, there was hardly any such rule here. He just had to—

A strange movement jerked in his peripherals, unbalanced and uneven. Claude’s head snapped around to catch it.

The hall was empty.

He didn’t need to see to know. He knew that silhouette. He knew that no one else in this world avoided him so vehemently. No one but a Deer would think they could escape the chase.

His legs moved as fast as they would carry him, steps echoing against the bricks just so he could be a bit quicker. He didn’t need to be quiet—the other Claude already knew he’d be followed, already knew he’d have to be faster and smarter.

Claude couldn’t catch the full figure even as he rounded close to each corner, but he knew he was close. The fabric of the cape as it whipped around the stones was unmistakable, the color common to no one else. It could be no one else.

As he rounded another corner, he heard the click of a latch. The hall itself was empty.

“That desperate, huh?” He hummed, slowing his steps as he moved down the hall. A smile played on his lips. Fine, he could keep playing.

Carefully, he pressed his ear to each door. All he needed was a sound; something as simple as a breath would do to give away his hiding place. Either way, his elder was trapped here, just as he would have been in his own room.

Even in the worst case, if he couldn’t narrow down the room, then all Claude had to do was go around the corner and wait. Eventually, the man would grow tired of hiding. He’d peek out the door, curious if it was safe. If he saw no one here, then he’d head back to his room. And then Claude would pounce.

His feet froze as he heard the familiar octave of his future voice. The door muffled the words too well, but Claude didn’t particularly care for the details. All that mattered was that someone was indeed inside.

He quietly cleared his throat, subduing the smile on his face. They both knew he’d been caught, so there was no reason to rub it in. Not yet, anyway.

His knuckles rapped lightly on the door.

Nothing. Again.

Okay, maybe he’d rub it in a little. With a huff, he raised his hand to knock once more—but the door opened before he could.

It was good that he hadn’t been smiling too much—he was _sure_ the drop in his expression would be a dead giveaway. He had to be grateful that he’d been practicing his composure for years, that even the strangest circumstance could still be faced with a charming smile.

Because the king on the other side of the door wasn’t the one he wanted. No, instead it was Dimitri—half-dressed and surprisingly large even without the absurdly large cape. That _his_ Dimitri could get this big in the span of a few years was mind-boggling.

But gawking wasn’t why he was here.

“Well hello, Your Kingliness.” He said, offering a poor emulation of a bow.

“Hello Claude.” Dimitri smiled down at him, his smile serene like he was the epitome of royalty. Then again, that was hardly any different from the Dimitri he knew, aside from being maybe a step toned down. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Right. Focus. “I hope so.” He let his smile turn into something more charming. He could play on nostalgia—if Dimitri was any sort of properly sentimental man, he’d certainly fall for it. “You haven’t seen the other me around, have you?”

Dimitri hummed softly, glancing to the ceiling as if it held his answers. “No, I don’t believe I have.”

“You . . . haven’t?” Claude blinked. He knew what a lie looked like, but _why_ was he being lied to? “Huh.”

“I would recommend the wyvern stables.” Dimitri continued, finally glancing down at Claude with that smile still on his face. “I recall he expressed some concern for his not too long ago.”

“Uh, right.” He coughed to try and hide the frown threatening on his lips. So Dimitri would grow up to lie easily. Sure, the prince was hardly straightforward, but this was an entirely different flavor. Good to know, he supposed. “Thanks.”

Dimitri smiled sweetly, like he was completely oblivious to his own lie. “Any time, Claude.”

Claude stared at the door as it shut in front of him.

He was _certain_ that the other him was still in there. There was no possible way of doubting it. And while they had certainly been amiable in their youth, it made no sense that he’d so willingly cover for the other—especially when there was unlikely to be any way to explain himself.

So . . . what was _that_ , then?

_ Dimitri _

Askr was, admittedly, difficult for Dimitri to adjust to.

Not for any of the usual reasons, he supposed. He had no illusions that the fights would end when the war did—did not expect to deserve such a luxury—and so it was hardly difficult to throw himself into the battles here. He also carried little worry over his homeland, even when he missed it dearly; if time continued as normal without him, he knew he could rely on his friends to keep Faerghus safe. For the most part, he also enjoyed seeing those of the past; it was good to see his friends in their youth once more, to enjoy them as they were without being partially blinded by his own burdens.

“I told you,” Felix hissed, snatching his bag from Sylvain’s hands, “I don’t need your help.”

“Aw, c’mon Felix.” Sylvain sighed, doing a rather impressive job of keeping his shivers contained to his fingertips. “Hilda and Bernie left already. You can’t do this on your own.”

Dimitri smiled, watching from afar as Felix finally managed to pull his bag from the other’s grasp. The teen snarled as Sylvain continued to try to grab at it, but it was light, playful. Nothing like the way his lip used to curl in Dimitri’s very presence.

“Fine.” Felix grumbled. He dug into his bag, idle curses on his lips. When he found what he was looking for, he pulled it out—revealing a long and slender box. He promptly shoved it into Sylvain’s hands. “Put this on. You look pathetic.”

Sylvain opened it, revealing a cloak within. “Aw, Fe—”

“Just shut up and put it on. If you keep wasting time, we won’t finish this.”

It had been bizarre at first, to see them so strangely dressed, but Dimitri was growing used to such oddities. Besides, the nostalgia made it easier to endure how much he missed his homeland.

But nostalgia was also a double-edged sword. Nostalgia made it hard to adjust to Askr.

“Come on.” Claude grinned, nudging his elbow into Dimitri’s side. “Let’s get lunch.”

Dimitri glanced down, mouth suddenly dry. Nostalgia made him remember his fondness for the leader of the Alliance, for the man who had fallen into his life once more. It made him remember those easy smiles, those prodding questions, that deceptive glint in his eye. It made him remember how much he’d been trusted, and yet not trusted at all.

If he had time like this back home—time where they could have been themselves, and not overwhelmed by the world that kept spinning around them—would it have been any different?

Could Claude have trusted him—loved him—then?

Claude raised an expectant eyebrow, and Dimitri suddenly recalled that he’d been asked a question. He swallowed, pushing those thoughts aside, and nodded.

The thoughts were persistent this time, with so little to provide a distraction as they waited for their food. They prodded at him in the back of his mind, like a termite chipping away at old wood.

He glanced up at Claude, who seemed to amuse himself by watching some people talking in the other end of the tavern. He leaned back in his chair, fingers free of their gloves to make the most of the hearth’s warmth. It was hard to focus on anything other than the way his fingers—unmarred and perfect—clenched and unclenched to encourage warmth back into them.

Dimitri looked away, staring down at his own plate as it slid in front of him.

They’d never eaten together like this in their youth—not alone, anyway. To an extent, it was improper. House leaders were supposed to spend time with their houses, making their classmates feel welcomed and important. It was a sensible choice; it made more sense for the leaders to build strong relationships with their future subjects, rather than try to bridge the gap between countries who would be at most respectful toward each other once they’d graduated.

Back then, it hadn’t stopped the way he felt when Claude spoke to him and smiled at him. Those moments made him feel like he could actually be the prince that everyone expected him to be. That the smile on his face could be real, could be his own.

Being around him now brought those sentiments back in full.

No. They came back _stronger_. After all, Dimitri had admired the Claude in his own world, respected him more than most anyone else. And, while he had stirred many a wonderful feeling in Dimitri’s heart, Dimitri had understood even then that it was impossible. Claude was untouchable—impossible to even reach for behind that barrier he’d constructed. When there was finally a chance, a means to finally see each other as they were, Claude left.

But _this_ Claude was different. He stayed. He was the one who sought Dimitri. Always trusting Dimitri to protect him from his younger self. Always eager to come to talk about his latest discovery. Always able to find Dimitri when he had to hide away to let himself heal—terrified of what he could do in his impaired state—and always chiding him for not seeking out help.

This Claude _trusted_ Dimitri, as much as a Claude could, anyway. And it made Dimitri yearn all the more for him.

They made his mind fall into impossibilities—to even the absurdity that _this_ was anything more than a shared meal between friends. That it would _ever_ be more than that.

He took a bite of his stew, only slightly bitter that the warmth wasn’t enough to distract himself. He’d take a burnt tongue, even, if it could provide some relief. Instead, he had only the textures to rely upon—the contrast between chewy meat and vegetables that barely held themselves together—but even that wasn’t enough.

To an outsider, this would look like a date. Even so, he was sure Claude was entirely ignorant about that. After all, it was easy for Dimitri to assume that all the other couples here were romantic to some degree—Claude, though, he’d probably be wondering what secrets lay behind those smiles, or agendas between each touch.

But Claude wasn’t an oblivious man. Even if he didn’t see the others here as Dimitri did, he’d certainly decode the sentiment in Dimitri’s stares—those that Dimitri couldn’t smother, anyway. And that terrified Dimitri far more than anything else here. He could fight beast and monster and god, but none of it would compare to the fear that Claude would someday learn of Dimitri’s affections.

And, someday, he would hate Dimitri for it—thinking that Dimitri only cared for him as a replacement. This thing between them, whatever it was, would be gone forever.

That was unless he managed to provide a distraction of some sort. Something to tempt the man who was certainly more of a lion than Dimitri was.

“I admit,” he muttered, “I did not expect Felix and Sylvain to take so well to this place.”

Claude leaned back in his chair, taking a sip of his ale. It was meant to be nonchalant, Dimitri knew, but there was no mistaking that look in his eyes.

Good. This would be a suitable distraction. “I shouldn’t have been surprised.” He continued, mentally apologizing to his old friends for using them so. “They’ve always adapted better when together.”

Claude smiled. “Opposites attract, apparently.”

Oh, if only he knew. If only he could see the way Felix and Sylvain acted back home. In the Academy, their interests had certainly been antithetical. Their habits, too. But, after a homeland hard won, and battles that were perhaps too close for comfort, that only exasperated it.

Felix was a terror in court. He had no patience for politics, no desire to listen to nobles try to wheedle their way into Dimitri’s good graces. He demanded they get to the point, to make their offers worthwhile, or leave. Dimitri wasn’t oblivious to the ways the other nobles looked for Felix whenever negotiations were occurring. He didn’t miss how the tension in their bodies evaporated whenever Felix was away in Fraldarius.

Sylvain, though, was entirely different. He welcomed the nobles openly, offering no less than his best smile and highest praise. His silver tongue sliced through complicated issues like they were no more than children’s tales. His wit and charm often had the nobles shocked with how much he had managed to persuade them to concede to.

Somehow, when they were together, they managed to know just who was needed to get the necessities handled. He didn’t even need to ask it of them—they merely did. They merely proclaimed that he had more important things to concern himself with.

Together, they had certainly accomplished more than Dimitri ever could have managed alone. As such, he’d been certain to look the other way whenever they needed to . . . have more personal discussions.

He swallowed, trying to maintain his focus on how _happy_ he was for them, and not let it descend into how much he envied them. He smiled. “It’s a balance. I believe it has helped their relationship immensely back home.”

“They’re together in your world?”

“Married.” Dimitri would know. He was the one who officiated.

Claude blinked, like it was a thought that never would have occurred to him.

Dimitri couldn’t blame him. Many of the others had thought it was a joke at first, too. But it had been sensible at the time. With the political situation as tumultuous as it was, there was a good chance that such a relationship would cause a scandal that they couldn’t afford. But when things had settled, they had nothing to hide.

Much like, if Dimitri did manage to earn Claude’s affections, they had nothing to hide here.

“Okay, so they’re married.” Claude said, snapping Dimitri out of his thoughts. “You’re a king. What about the other me?”

Dimitri felt his veins turn to ice. He knew Claude would read into everything, but he couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop the way his heart clenched, how his food turned in his stomach. The most he could do to preserve himself was to look away. “I don’t know.”

“What?” The shock in Claude’s voice was legitimate—that much Dimitri could tell. He wished that made him feel any better.

“I came to your aid in Deidru, when the Empire had you and your men pinned. I thought—,”

He thought a lot of things, really. He had thought that coming to Deidru would help _prove_ that he was someone who could be trusted. That he was trying to be better. He thought Claude’s presence there—the fact he didn’t flee—had been a sign. He thought maybe they could work together to stop Edelgard. He thought that, with Claude there, maybe it wouldn’t have ended in so much bloodshed.

But that wall was still there. Claude still left.

He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. You left for Almyra, leaving Failnaught with the Professor. I . . . had not heard what became of you. I wished we might speak once more, but . . .”

“You haven’t looked for him?” Claude was relentless, like he already knew the truth. Like he wanted to punish Dimitri by forcing him to say it out loud.

“I tried.” He muttered.

And he had, as much as his position would allow. Sylvain was asked to keep an ear out for any news about Claude—or anyone even close to Claude—in his diplomatic missions. Shamir was hired to simply inform them if she saw him while outside Fodlan. The Professor—Archbishop now—was asked to let him know if Claude ever did appear, mostly because his admiration of the Professor was fairly well-known.

And it all came to naught. Dimitri had come to accept that he hadn’t known Claude as well as he’d hoped. He had learned to tolerate the fact that he may never see Claude again, let alone tell him how he felt.

He wondered how much he understood the Claude in this world.

His gaze flicked up timidly, catching Claude’s. There was something . . . hurt in his expression. It was like he was certain that Dimitri certainly hadn’t cared, because otherwise he would have found him. Dimitri could only recognize the pain because he’d seen it in his reflection when he’d wondered why Claude left.

Perhaps it was on _him_ to make things right.

~

“I hear that you is a family man.”

Dimitri glanced over, though he knew he didn’t need to. He knew the other Dimitri—Dima, Claude kept calling him—was everything Dimitri couldn’t be. He was amiable, properly kingly, admirable, and happily married. Even if they weren’t so different, Dima had everything he could have ever wanted.

Dimitri didn’t envy the man; he was happy for him. It just was discomforting to know he _could_ have had everything, and yet here he was.

Perhaps it was worse that he was being given another chance here. He had Claude in front of him, something he’d craved for months now, and he was doing nothing about it. It was his _second_ chance, and he was failing.

He’d wondered, once, if he should ask Dima’s opinion. But he imagined that the man was already undoubtedly missing his husband. Reminding him of the absence would only spread the misery.

Dimitri nodded. “Yes. I imagine he’s quite impatient to get home.”

Claude elbowed his ribs, a cute habit he’d developed recently. Though Dimitri wasn’t sure if he was fond of it simply because it was contact. “What about you? Someone waiting for you back home?”

It took all Dimitri had not to flinch. Claude’s inquisitiveness was also quite endearing, most of the time. But more and more it felt like his words were peeling Dimitri’s armor away, leaving him raw and exposed.

_Oh_ , if only Claude knew. “No . . . no I don’t believe so.”

Claude gasped like it was a scandal. Like the object of Dimitri’s affection wasn’t _right here_. “Impossible. I can’t believe it.”

“Mock me all you wish, but it’s true.”

“I truly don’t believe it.” Claude grinned. “The hero of Fodlan? The savior king? How could someone not wait for you—praying for the day you return home to their arms?”

Oh, it wasn’t fair. He _had_ to know. He had to know and was mocking Dimitri for falling into it. For wishing that Claude would look at him with even a fraction of the same affection. “Claude . . .”

“ _I_ certainly would.” Claude nudged him again. This was cruel. Torture even. “Come on, you can’t—”

“Is someone waiting for you, then?” The words came out before Dimitri could stop them, but he didn’t regret it. He refused to be the only one tormented by this line of questioning. Besides, Claude wasn’t the only one curious of the other’s attachments. Claude was just the only one who likely knew the answer when he asked.

“Me?” Claude’s expression fell, the shift impossible to hide behind his laugh. It was that hurt again, easier to see every time Dimitri accidentally stumbled upon it. And he seemed to do that so often now.

It was better to stop the hurt before it lingered. He opened his mouth to speak—to say that he actually didn’t need to know—but Claude was too fast.

“No one.”

No. That was impossible. It was impossible for there to be a world where Claude wasn’t loved by someone. Where there wasn’t someone desperately wanting him—or someone he could find himself to trust and care for. “What?” He couldn’t fathom it. “How? Why?”

Claude couldn’t even look at him. “Things happen in war.”

Dimitri felt ill. Realization sat heavy in his stomach. “They died.”

Of course. Claude’s inquisitiveness hadn’t been a game or tease. It had been a genuine inquiry, wanting to know more about his friend’s life—wanting to know what it was like for someone who still had the opportunity for someone to wait for them. He was being kind in assuming Dimitri had someone like Dima had. Claude just wanted to experience that with someone else, because he couldn’t personally any more.

No wonder he was hurt.

“Don’t give me that look.” Claude said softly. His smile was so fragile, like it would break with the slightest breeze. “It’s not that bad. I have a lot of things to focus on back home. It doesn’t bother me that much.”

For Claude’s sake, Dimitri pretended that he believed it.

_Claude _

“So, Your Princeliness,” Claude slid into the seat across from Dimitri, smiling as the prince poked at his meal with his fork, “having an argument with the potatoes?”

Dimitri sighed. “Good afternoon, Claude.”

Claude raised an eyebrow, pointedly swiping a potato from Dimitri’s plate to taste it. A little under-seasoned, but it wasn’t too bad. “You alright there? Can’t have a sick prince, you know.”

“There is no need for you to be concerned.” Dimitri said, a soft smile sliding onto his lips as he shook his head. “I merely did not sleep well last night. And with training so early this morning . . .”

Sometimes it was too easy with this guy. “Oh! You’re training with the other Dimitri?”

Dimitri blinked. “No. Just a few other heroes before they left.” He shifted in his seat, fingers clenching a little tighter around his fork. “I . . . admit I have not had the opportunity to speak with King Dimitri.”

“Oh.” Claude spun his spoon between his fingers. “Can’t get yours to talk to you either, huh?”

“Pardon?”

“Mine’s been avoiding me.” Claude sighed, resting his chin in his palm. He waved his hand. “Wondered if it was just me.”

Dimitri leaned back in his chair, lips pressed together. “I admit I have not tried. I wished to respect his desires, so I do not aim to approach him first.”

Ah, so he _was_ being avoided, too. It wasn’t like he was ignorant of it; he merely did not wish to discomfort his elder self. It would be charming, if it wasn’t absolutely absurd.

“I envy you.” He said instead.

Dimitri’s head tilted slightly. No wonder some of the girls back at Garreg Mach thought he looked like a cute puppy. All innocence and charm. “Why is that?”

Claude shrugged, tasting his soup. It was okay, he supposed, certainly bland in comparison to the monastery’s food. But he couldn’t complain, not when it was the only decent way of staying warm. And he thought Fodlan had been cold.

“Claude . . .”

“It worries me, you know.” He said, nibbling at the edge of his spoon. He kept his gaze downcast, like he couldn’t quite face his own admission.

“Worries . . . you.” Dimitri repeated the words slowly, like they’d be strange if not on his own tongue. He cleared his throat. “I find it hard to believe you let anything worry you.”

True, Claude was never one to show it. Never one to show anything but a charming smile and an easy attitude. That’s how he knew Dimitri would fall for the bait, after all. Dimitri had always been rather perceptive about Claude’s secrets, even if he could never decipher what they were. To think that he was trusted, even a little, would undoubtedly garner his interest.

But only if he played it right. He looked away.

“Claude.” A hand rested on his own, remarkably gentle considering Dimitri’s reputation. “You can confide in me.”

Claude looked down at their hands. He almost wanted to feel bad about this. But the truth outweighed any potential for guilt; something was being hidden from them—something important—and he wasn’t going to let his own future suffer because another him was squeamish about it.

“I worry.” He muttered, still not looking Dimitri in the eyes. “Why would he avoid me? What did we do that he’s so afraid of me knowing?”

“He’s not you, Claude.” Dimitri said, voice soft. “Whatever he’s hiding . . . there’s no guarantee you’ve already done it. Or even that you will.”

“But what if I will? What if I do something awful? What if I do something that puts us on opposite ends of a conflict, or—” He shook his head, as if he couldn’t voice whatever was buzzing in his mind.

“It’s true that we do not always agree,” Dimitri mused, his fingertips pressing more insistently against the back of Claude’s hand, “but I cannot imagine us as enemies.”

Claude glanced up. “Don’t you want to be sure, though?”

Dimitri seemed to finally realize that his hand was _still_ on Claude’s, and slowly pulled away. There was something behind his gaze that Claude couldn’t place—something that was a neighbor to both concern and fear.

So he _was_ worried. Or maybe Claude was giving him reason to.

“Perhaps . . .” Dimitri cleared his throat. “Perhaps if it is true that he is avoiding you specifically, I could try . . .”

Claude smiled. “I appreciate it, Your Princeliness.”

Dimitri finally returned the smile, the expression so reserved and uneasy that Claude was sure it would falter at any moment. It was certainly only meant for Claude’s sake, to ease his worries. This guy was too good for his own good—too good to be true, even.

Okay, Claude definitely felt a _bit_ bad. True, there was no way for Dimitri to be entirely ignorant of the fact that he _was_ being avoided. But he probably hadn’t thought that the avoidance would be a condemnation. And knowing his type, it probably made him worry more about his country than he worried about himself.

His gaze flicked to two familiar figures as they stepped into the dining area. It was little surprise to see the two of them together now, they pretty much _always_ were. At first, Claude couldn’t make too much sense of it; it seemed unlikely his elder self would learn anything from King Dimitri that he couldn’t already learn from his Dimitri back home. And he couldn’t imagine there was anything else he could possibly gain from the man, either.

But it made sense now. In the same way Claude sought the younger Dimitri to aid his cause, he had little doubt his elder had enough sense to do similar. Together, they could hold a much stronger front against Claude. Or, perhaps, his elder was more certain that King Dimitri would let nothing slip if he was being watched over.

Not that the reason mattered too much to Claude. While Claude had no chance against his elder self, there was a chance that Dimitri could be a bit more persuasive. If he had any sense of nostalgia, especially for the younger version of his new companion, then he had a chance.

There was only one way to know for sure. “Huh. Speaking of.”

Dimitri glanced over his shoulder, shoulders jerking as he definitely caught sight of his elder.

Claude hummed. “If you’re not up for it, we could try another—”

“No.” Dimitri’s hands clenched in front of him, the pressure making the metal of his gauntlets creak. “No, you’re right.”

With a shaky sigh, the prince rose from his seat. He stepped across the area, surprisingly discreet as he lingered just outside of their vision—stepping along the crowds as they chatted and moved to and from their tables. His steps were measured, not too quick and not too slow as to avoid drawing attention to himself.

And yet, somehow, he was spotted. Claude knew it the moment his elder’s fingers dug into King Dimitri’s sleeves, pulling insistently even as he spoke as if nothing had happened. But Claude knew that look—he’d seen it too many times now.

Cursing to himself, he rose from his seat, bolting across the room. But the crowd was too thick, the people too keen to be in his way. By the time he reached the door, they were gone. There was only Dimitri there, looking far more miserable than he had minutes ago.

Claude stuck his head out the doorway, looking for any sign of them. But the halls were empty, all doors shut. He couldn’t make out any sounds beyond the normal clamor of the dining area.

He’d lost them again.

This had gone from frustrating to infuriating. It wasn’t like he wanted to know anything _bad_. He wasn’t asking for strategies on murdering his enemies, or dismantling the Church or Seiros, or anything like that. He just wanted to know if he had achieved any part of his dream—where he had succeeded and where he had failed. He wanted a chance to make his future better. What was so wrong about that?

“Perhaps,” Dimitri muttered, running a hand through his hair, “perhaps I am also guilty of something as well.”

Ok, maybe there were some parts that were wrong. Making Dimitri worry about his position (and more likely, his country) was definitely a little grey morally. “Don’t worry so much. They probably just saw me coming.” He said, putting a hand on Dimitri’s shoulder.

Dimitri glanced at the touch, but it didn’t make him look any less concerned. He opened his mouth to say something, but couldn’t bring himself to it.

“Come on, Your Princeliness.” Claude said, tone cheery. “You can’t possibly think you did something horrible.”

“ _You_ do.” Dimitri pulled away, stepping down the hallway.

“Yes but,” Claude hurried to follow alongside, “ _I’m_ notoriously trouble. I’d blame my charm, really.” He grinned. “You’re just . . . hm.”

Dimitri sighed. “Claude, it is hardly encouraging when even you cannot—”

“I was thinking of something a little more precise than ‘perfect’, but I’m coming up short.”

Dimitri sputtered, his sentence dying on his tongue.

Good. He could break him out of this glumness yet. There was no reason to feel guilty if there were no lingering consequences. “Oh, come on. I’m not the first to say it, and I doubt I’ll be the last.”

Dimitri’s cheeks were already dusted pink. “Please do not tease me.”

“Me, tease? Never.”

“Claude.”

“My point,” Claude let his hand settle between Dimitri’s shoulders, “is that I’m sure it’s not you. I’m _positive_. And I’m hardly ever wrong.”

Dimitri snorted softly, his smile barely holding back a laugh. “If you insist.” He glanced down at Claude, eyes shimmering and mirthful.

Claude smiled, pleased at a job well done. This was a better look for Dimitri, anyway.

“I find it equally unfathomable that they avoid you for such a reason.” Dimitri said, words coming out in a near-tangled mess. “You may be . . . unconventional . . . but not—”

“No need to butter me up.” Claude laughed.

“I wasn’t—” Dimitri flustered even further, burying his face in his hands. “That wasn’t what I intended.” He muttered.

“Oh?” Claude leaned in, a sly smile on his lips. “What _did_ you intend?”

Dimitri looked away. “I merely meant that you are a good man.”

Claude swallowed, mouth open but words uncooperative. He had to be grateful that Dimitri didn’t seem to notice, too preoccupied with his own embarrassment.

“I cannot fathom why they would avoid you.” Dimitri continued, more seriousness in his voice. “And, while I admit it discomforts me, it bothers me that it distresses you.”

Claude cleared his throat. “It’s not that—”

“I insist we work together to set this straight.” Dimitri said, finally looking back to Claude. “It is not right for them to cause so much trouble without an explanation. I believe our older selves should have better manners than that.”

Claude blinked, a sincere smile sliding onto his lips. “Yeah. Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [@Natbucks](https://twitter.com/natbucks) commissioned me to continue this story, so we have one more chapter after this in the works! I'm so grateful for the support!
> 
> As always, please feel free to reach out to me on Twitter! [@kayisdreaming ](https://twitter.com/kayisdreaming).


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now—back to Claude and progressing with the story!

It was a bit of a foreign feeling, if Claude was being honest. He was no stranger to meeting people over a meal, or even anticipating someone’s presence. But there was something _new_ about this.

Perhaps it was because this was the first he’d get to actually _be_ with Dimitri in what felt like forever. He had no worries about being avoided—no, quite often Dimitri hurried to his side like an overeager pup, cheeks flushing every time his gaze fell anywhere lower than Claude’s eyes. But such fun moments were short; they hardly had a couple minutes together before the king was being dragged off to help with some other matter.

In addition, they were constantly being sent on different missions. It seemed every time he returned back to Askr, Dimitri had _just_ been deployed. He could count on one hand the number of times they’d been in the same vicinity for more than five minutes in the last two weeks.

So he supposed he had reason enough to be excited. Sure, it was entirely laughable that he was thrilled about something as mundane as conversation, but here he was.

And yet, _still_ no Dimitri.

He sighed, glancing down at the meat pie growing cold. It really didn’t matter whether it was warm or not—the food here compared little to that of his homeland—but _he’d_ been perfectly on time. Dimitri was nowhere to be seen, and his food was showing it..

Something seeped into the growing cracks of his excitement. It wasn’t annoyance or bitterness—no, nothing quite as resentful. Maybe disappointment? Just the smallest fragment of doubt. A small whisper that he was the only one anticipating this moment.

He exhaled slowly. He needed to stop letting his mind get carried away. A million things could get in the way in Askr. One only had to be approached by the princess to lose half their day. While he was sure Dimitri wouldn’t be a complete pushover in that instance, he was pretty sure his overwhelming politeness would delay him.

Besides, it was probably best Claude not let himself get too attached. It was impossible to tell when the summoner would send any of them home. Either Dimitri would be forced to leave, or he would. Both would drag him back to the emptiness he’d once been used to.

Claude looked away from the vacant seat in front of him. He just needed a distraction.

His eyes fell on a couple of people sitting at the nearby table. They spoke amiably together, smiling and laughing around mouthfuls of food. Terribly, horribly in love. They weren’t being obvious about it—trying to be discreet even—but he could tell. It was clear in the way their fingers brushed against eachother’s, how their smiles lingered long after their conversation was over, the way their gazes softened when they thought the other wasn’t looking.

He wondered if he looked like that in those few moments he spent with Dimitri. Even in their most casual conversations, he couldn’t help but think of the way Dimitri’s voice rumbled in his ear, how his hands warmed Claude’s as they laced their fingers together, or how his lips brushed against his skin and left goosebumps in their wake. He couldn’t help but think of the way Dimitri’s gaze softened whenever they were together, like Claude was the sun itself come to melt away the ice lingering in his heart.

Claude groaned, dragging a hand down his face. He needed to stop. He needed to be realistic. Sure, he could let himself fall into such fantasies when they were together—after all, it was a gift, one he could let himself enjoy until it was taken away—but he was _supposed_ to be practical the rest of the time. Fantasy didn’t change fact, and he had to stop trying to delude himself that it could.

Step one: stop waiting for Dimitri.

His eyes fell back onto the meal that was well past appetizing by now. If his mood hadn’t already soured his stomach, he was sure cold gravy certainly would.

“Glad to see my older counterpart still has decent taste.”

Correction: there was _one_ thing that would ruin whatever had remained of his appetite. And the source was standing right in front of him.

His younger self grinned, sliding into the seat across from him. “Not often I see you eating alone.”

Claude was tempted to leave. He could just rise from his seat, turn on his heel, and play cat and mouse once more with the terror that was his younger self. He’d get away—he always did—but by this point it was getting tedious.

But his meal was untouched. And he knew himself well enough to know that it would only taunt his younger self more—make his sworn secrets even more appetizing to the young schemer.

His eyes fell to the place across from him, where the table was conspicuously devoid of any sort of dinnerware. It was almost insulting; the kid wasn’t even _trying_. “You need a meal to eat, you know.”

The younger Claude waved his hand like it was unimportant. “Didn’t see a point in both me and my friend standing in line. Told him I’d save us a seat.”

Claude’s lip twitched. He didn’t have to think hard to know who the friend was. “You don’t give up, do you?”

“You should know.” His younger self leaned forward, chin resting in his palm. His smile was wide, absolutely unhindered by any pretense of decorum. “You’re me.”

Claude scoffed. “You should hope not.”

He paled, stomach dropping. It was a small slip. A nothing slip. Nothing could be derived from that. It was only logical that he’d hope that the Claude here would be different—better, even— than him.

He hadn’t thought that annoying grin could get any wider, but it did. “Oh?” The younger Claude said, voice almost musical in intonation. “Why is that?”

Claude scowled, digging his fork into the pie and shoving a too-large piece into his mouth. It was absolutely frigid by now, flavor absolutely indecipherable beyond cold gravy. It only worsened the unease in his gut.

“Oh, come on.” A pout took the place of that grin, which Claude was pretty sure was worse. “It can’t be that bad.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Claude muttered, dropping his fork on his plate. There was no point bothering with the pretense of eating. “There’s a good chance it’s impossible for you to be me.”

Technically speaking, he’d figured there was a two-thirds chance that the kid in front of him would wind up with an entirely different fate. From what he’d gathered, Byleth was the only consistent factor between the lords’ successes. And, in a universe where even the Byleths were never consistent, there was nothing to guarantee the path that awaited any of them.

But a low probability didn’t mean he’d indulge his own personal pest with a vision of a possible future. He was _not_ going to be the disruptive factor there. At this point it was more spite than any fear of Lysithea’s retaliatory magic.

“Well, I don’t believe in ‘impossible’.” His younger self said, wrinkling his nose. “Figured you wouldn’t, either.”

Claude frowned. To an extent, he hadn't. He’d never believed in letting obstacles get in his way—it was how he earned his place as the tactician, the schemer. Despite all odds, he had managed things previously deemed impossible. He united Fodlan—a continent that had divided itself for centuries. He’d become king of Almyra, a land that had been almost as adverse to mixed blood as Fodlan. But those things had been difficult, not impossible.

Impossible was falling into another world, where he was surrounded by his past, his present, and people whose paths he should never have crossed. Impossible was seeing a man who he knew had died in his own world. Impossible was getting to let himself feel and enjoy something that he thought would have to be locked away forever.

Impossible was getting to spend a night with Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd.

His lip quirked at the memory. Yeah, he might have been doubting that _anything_ was impossible lately.

But there was a price to courting the impossible. The union of Fodlan was managed only with the blood of those who had deserved better. His claim to Almyra had certainly been less bloody, but he couldn’t say that his hands were clean. And it was very possible that Askr’s means of pulling people here had negative consequences on their homeworlds. And perhaps Claude _did_ have a chance to enjoy the king who was taken from him too soon in his homeworld, but that only chained him to an affection—an infatuation, even—that he once thought contained. When he eventually returned home, he knew he would do so alone. And it would rip him apart.

“Seems like you have it all figured out.” Claude muttered, not bothering to hide the frown on his lips.

He shifted to rise from his seat. He wasn’t going to continue being prodded and pulled like this. It would only reopen a wound that barely healed, claw into memories he’d hidden away.

“Oh!” The familiar voice, the friendly intonation, made Claude twitch. He glanced up, eyes unfortunately locking with a young Dimitri’s. The boy smiled, like he was utterly oblivious to his friend’s scheming and its effects. Quite likely, he actually was. “I’m not interrupting, am I?”

“Not at all!” Claude’s younger self grinned, grabbing one of the bowls off of Dimitri’s platter. “Perfect timing!”

Dimitri looked unconvinced, frowning as his comrade’s abrupt movements made some soup splash onto the table. “I fail to see why I needed to get both our meals.” He sat beside his friend, offering a napkin. “There appears to be little competition over meals . . . or seating, for that matter.”

“Because I asked,” Claude’s younger self took the offered cloth to dab at the spill before it could pour over the table and into his lap, “and you said ‘okay’.”

Claude swallowed. Dimitri must have been oblivious, then, or at least an unwitting participant. Leaving now would only spark questions. And—Sothis help him—he was certain he couldn’t handle _both_ of them questioning him.

But it wasn’t entirely self-preservation; he wasn’t that delusional. He wasn’t oblivious to the way Dimitri’s lip downturned just slightly, even as his expression was as restrained as his demeanor. Polite complaints passed his lips, though he appeared entirely unbothered as the schemer easily deflected them. Instead, he seemed amused by it, a charming little smirk falling onto his lips as he rested his hand on his companion’s, even if only to move the napkin and block the soup from dripping onto _his_ lap.

Claudes’ eyes fell on the contact that remained, even after the mess was clean. The younger Claude, more notably, didn’t pull away. No, he just leaned closer, nose inches from Dimitri’s as he taunted and teased the young prince. While Dimitri flustered, the prince didn’t close himself off, instead making a comment that caught the young schemer off guard. They pulled away from each other then, and Claude didn’t miss the slight blush that graced their features.

It wasn’t perfect, but Claude could tell that even _they_ had a chance. And it made something ugly curl in his chest, jabbing into him like thorns.

“Besides,” the young schemer huffed, taking a bite of his meal to hide his embarrassment, “you wanted to talk to him, didn’t you? Couldn’t get a chance with the bigger you avoiding you all the time.”

“Oh! Yes. I did.” Dimitri blushed slightly, hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. He glanced up at Claude through his lashes. “If . . . if that’s tolerable to you.”

Claude felt his heart stop in his chest. Objectively, he’d known that Dimitri was cute in his youth. He’d known that it had fascinated him, though much of that was ignored in favor of deciphering the prince’s strange moods and interests. Seeing it now, well, the nostalgia was almost crippling.

Dimitri’s gaze dropped, lips turning into a frown. “I . . . understand if it is not.”

_Oh_ , he should’ve just run when he had the chance. His fist clenched hard on the table. “There’s . . . no harm in talking.” He said, swallowing down his unease.

Oh, there was a _lot_ of potential harm. His personal pest could easily decode any of Claude’s words and actions; it was something he had prided himself on as a youth, in fact. Any minor slip, any given tell, and he’d give away everything he swore to the others that he wouldn’t.

But this was a chance to talk to Dimitri, a chance he’d not made the most of as a teen. He hadn’t had the unifying influence of a future mystery. He was too stuck in his own head and his own ambitions. By the time he wanted to bridge the gap between them, it was already too late.

And, sure, it wasn’t like he wanted that sort of relationship with _this_ Dimitri. But . . . well, there were things he missed. Things he’d been oblivious to. And getting to enjoy that for just a bit was too tantalizing to ignore.

He sighed slowly. He just had to be careful. “What did you want to talk about?”

Dimitri brightened immediately, his face like a literal ray of run. It was too intense, Claude realized. Having all of his attention, all of his focus, it made Claude want to squirm. He was no stranger to a Dimitri’s affection—the older Dimitri certainly had that in abundance—but this was unrestrained. Impossible to defend against.

But Dimitri wasn’t quick to answer. Instead, he tapped his chin with his fist, eyes downcast as he considered his words. Even the younger Claude looked at him expectantly, like he hadn’t actually thought Dimitri would take this so seriously.

Dimitri exhaled softly before speaking. “Others have mentioned that you’re a king.”

Interesting start. Claude could play along. “Yeah.”

“Of Fodlan?”

Claude didn’t miss the way his younger counterpart’s gaze flicked to him. It took all the restraint he had not to smile. It wasn’t surprising that his younger self was pursuing other’s secrets while keeping his own close to his chest. It was, however, quite fun to see it turned back on him. “No.”

Dimitri blinked, lips parted as he tried to process his surprise.

“You could always ask him.” Claude offered, motioning toward his younger counterpart, whose calm demeanor seemed just on the edge of fracturing. No doubt he was scrambling for an excuse. “He knows.”

“I . . . see.” Dimitri glanced at his accomplice, but he didn’t look frustrated or upset. Just intrigued. He looked back to Claude. “I suppose you won’t tell me where?”

“Nope.”

He laughed softly. “I expected as much.” He glanced over at his friend. “I don’t suppose you would, either?”

It looked like it took immense physical effort for the younger Claude to keep from squirming. It was, at least, entertaining to see him similarly affected by Dimitri’s earnestness. “Jury’s out.”

Dimitri chuckled softly. “I suppose that will have to do.”

Claude sighed. “That all that’s on your mind?”

“Ah. No.” Dimitri’s head tilted just slightly, mouth opening and closing as if he were considering and reconsidering every possible question. For the briefest moment, his gaze slid back to the younger Claude. “Though I would hope that the relationship between us remains amiable . . . if not close.”

Claude felt his expression fall slightly, just a hair past the realm of his control.

Sure, he could lie. He could also just refuse to answer. But he was sure Claude would see right through his lie, and Dimitri would find his silence suspicious. In the worst case, he could just use the sanctity of the future as an answer—but he was pretty sure that excuse had sparked their curiosity in the first place.

“It’s . . .” Claude tried to consider his words carefully, but for once his mind was uncooperative, “hm.” Lovely. Right into the path of non-answer.

Dimitri’s expression fell. “I see . . .”

“It’s . . . complicated.” Claude muttered. He tried to blink away the million imaginings he had of Dimitri’s death, but it wasn’t working. It felt like the universe was pressing on him, a hand around his throat and an impossible weight on his chest. “Without spoiling the future, I mean. And I’d rather the Emperor and His Majesty not cut me to ribbons.”

“Does it really matter?” The younger Claude prodded, a pout on his lips. “You said it yourself that it’s unlikely our future is yours.”

Claude frowned, nails digging into his palms through his gloves as his fists clenched tight. This was a _mercy_. A _kindness_ , in its own twisted way. They didn’t need to know that war awaited them when they got home. They didn’t need to know that this was the only peace they’d have for years—if not for the rest of their lives.

“Claude,” the deep voice sent a chill up Claude’s spine, and it was a miracle he didn’t twitch, “here you are.”

Claude nearly pulled his neck with how quickly he whipped his head around. The smile on his face was awkward, but at least it was still somewhat natural. “Dima! What brings you here?”

Dima smiled fondly, arms crossing in front of him. “Ah, so you forgot.” When Claude blinked up at him, mind too slow to even attempt cooperation, his smile only widened. “I asked if you would spar with me today.”

True, Claude was perhaps losing half his mind and most of his competence lately, but he was pretty sure that his memory had been unmarred. And, considering that training was on his list of ‘most unappealing hobbies’, he was pretty sure he’d remember even if he was dumb enough to agree.

But Dima also didn’t seem like the kind of guy to fabricate things like this. He seemed too sincere for such pastimes. Not that Claude really knew everything there was to know about Dima, but he was sure—

Dima’s head tilted slightly, and it all clicked.

“Guess we’ll have to finish this later.” Claude hummed, trying to not look too hurried as he rose from his seat.

“Right.” Dimitri blinked, gaze shifting between Claude and Dimitri’s older self (who, for his part was smiling brightly like he was the most oblivious man in the world). “I wish you luck with your spar.”

“Keep it. You’ll need it.” Claude said with a smile, hand pressing between Dima’s shoulders to suggest he start moving. “Never know when he’ll try to sneak something into your meal.”

Dimitri paled, looking at his meal before looking back to his Claude. The little schemer already had excuses on his tongue, but Claude didn’t need to hear them. He just urged Dima along, hand pressing insistently at Dima’s back until he was sure they were down three halls and most definitely not being followed.

Still, he waited until he only heard their footsteps down the hall. Finally, _finally_ , he let himself breathe a sigh of relief. His shoulders were already aching from the tension.

“Are you alright?” Dima asked, his voice soft.

“Just fine.” Claude muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. Every time he dealt with himself, it seemed a headache was quick to follow. “So when did you become a master manipulator?”

Dima laughed, the sound soft and awkward. A hand went straight to the back of his head, scratching idly there. “I’m . . . not that skilled.”

“I couldn’t get _myself_ out of that mess.” Claude elbowed him lightly. “You made it look effortless.”

Dima smiled fondly. “I suppose I learned more than I thought.” He was quick to look away, though Claude didn’t miss how his expression turned sheepish. “Claude saved me often. _My_ Claude, I mean.”

Claude shuddered. There was something both intoxicating and mortifying about hearing ‘my Claude’. It was the former because _oh_ , how he’d wanted to hear that; the latter because it wasn’t _him_ , and wasn’t _his_ Dimitri. But it certainly left the imagination wandering.

“He always,” Dima sighed softly, gaze distant, “always seemed to know when I needed a break. Always so clever about helping me escape.”

“Probably just wanted you all to himself.” Claude muttered, trying not to feel jealous of himself.

Dima laughed, trying to hide it behind his hand. “He said that often.” His hand fell slightly, but it only barely obscured that utterly luminescent smile. “I’d like to think I know better.”

Claude hummed. “Well, he did agree to marry you.” That was acknowledgement enough, in his eyes. Even infatuated as he was with Dimitri, he couldn’t imagine marrying him . . . at least not yet. It took trust and, well, admittedly a willingness to let himself be seen. That _any_ Claude was willing to accept that was . . . surprising.

“Indeed.”

The smile was too much for Claude to look at anymore. He had to look away.

He could imagine that the other him got to see that every morning, enjoy the smile of someone who loved him like there was nothing else in the world that compared. It was no wonder that the other Claude had decided to rid of his armor, to expose himself fully to whatever Dima might do—for better or worse. Clearly he’d been improved by it.

“I never used to understand how he knew.” Dima said, voice soft. “He always seemed to just . . . know it innately. Like he could see my thoughts.” He cleared his throat. “Seeing you today . . . I think I understand.”

Claude shrugged, still unable to look at Dima. He didn’t have to, he was pretty sure he could guess the look on his face. “Guess even a king needs saving now and then.”

He’d expected Dima to continue, to keep talking about the Claude waiting for him back home. To smother Claude in nostalgia, unknowingly mocking him with each sweet memory. Every time he opened his mouth, it was like he was stabbing Claude directly in the heart. Claude enjoyed his company, but he knew he couldn’t survive it long.

But, instead, Dima fell quiet. Even his breaths were barely audible above the sound of his heels against the stone. Claude waited for him to speak, but . . . nothing.

It was arguably much, _much_ worse than Dima just talking.

“I admit,” Dima muttered, voice as insecure as Claude had ever heard it, “it is . . . odd. To see you—and to know you—and to see . . . your discomfort with me.”

Claude felt his heart in his throat. He forced a smile, laughing lightly as he clapped a hand on Dima’s shoulder. “Uncomfortable? Me? What would give you that idea?”

Dima smile’s smile was still there, but it was tamed. Much easier to endure. “I married a man very much like you. I would like to think I know you well enough.”

Claude felt his smile slip just a bit. It was kind of hard to proclaim that he was nothing like any other Claude when he knew it would be a lie. Even if the younger Claude was the most annoying thorn in his side, he knew how to handle him because they were—in essence—exceedingly similar. He doubted it was any different between him and Dima’s Claude.

He got it, but he didn’t like it. Which meant he needed a distraction. “Well,” he shrugged, buying himself just a moment more to think, “you have to admit it’s strange when a man looks at you like you’re his husband . . . and you weren’t even friends in your world.”

Dima hummed, eyebrow raising slightly. “You don’t have to pretend with me, you know.”

“I’m not—”

“My husband, though he was . . . incredibly reluctant . . . eventually opened up to me. I imagine there’s very little you could say that I might judge you for.”

Claude blinked, staring at him. It was strange, to hear that—to logically know it fit. But it wasn’t the same. _He_ wasn’t the same. “That doesn’t bother you?” He said, head tilting playfully. “That you feel that way toward someone who isn’t your husband?”

Dima merely smiled. “You are not him. I have no delusions that you are.” He shook his head. “However, speaking with you is . . . nostalgic. It reminds me of when I was younger. And . . . it eases the ache of missing him.”

Claude frowned, looking away. He should feel glad about helping. But there was something bitterly ironic about reminding someone of the comforts of home, when that person was the most painful reminder of what he’d missed. “I see.” He muttered.

Dima hummed. “I wish to make it up to you.”

“Sorry?”

“I admit, your presence here has made this place tolerable.” Dima smiled weakly. “I was uncertain if I would . . . do well here . . . without my husband. But you . . . seeing you here helped. I want to thank you.”

“That’s . . . really not necessary.”

“True. But I want to,” Dima said. “I want to ease your concerns.”

Claude laughed. “Concerns? What do _I_ have to be concerned about?”

“Hm,” Dima’s head tilted slightly, “I was aiming to speak with our younger selves. To dissuade their . . . more recent habits.”

“Oh, I know how to handle them. Who would know how I was as a teen better than me?”

“You forget that I am just as familiar with your schemes,” Dima laughed, “and may have partaken in a few.”

Claude blinked. Now _there_ was a thought. Setting up a harmless scheme with Dimitri, hiding their smiles behind their hands as they watched it play out. He could imagine them nudging each other beneath the table, a small bump of a foot against a calf. And he could imagine Dimitri’s composure utterly failing him, requiring a drastic rescue by Claude. Oh, now _that_ would be fun.

A hand rested on his shoulder, snapping him back to the cold truth of reality.

“I would also like to see you be able to smile.” Dima said, voice low and soft in a way that sent a pleasant chill up Claude’s spine. “And I imagine you could do so easily without their interference.”

Claude rubbed the back of his neck, trying to will away the heat growing on his face. “I . . . guess it would take away some of my worries.”

“Splendid.” And there was that unbearably radiant smile again. “I shall take care of it before I return home.”

Claude froze, even stopping mid-step. “You’re . . . what?”

Dima nodded. “The summoner indicated they wished to send me home soon. It appears my presence is somewhat . . . redundant.” A wry smile slid onto his lips. “The other Dimitri has been training diligently to demonstrate he can fill any gap in my presence.”

“That seems,” Claude paused, tongue trying to find the right words, “generous of him.” He could at least get enough sense back in him to keep walking.

So _that_ was why Dimitri was always so busy. It almost made sense now.

“It is.” Dima nodded toward his door, turning to stop just in front of it. “He was . . . quite clear that he wished I could return to my family. That I make the most of what he so desperately wished for.”

Claude swallowed, staring at the other. Looking for any hint of deception, any sign that he was teasing. Any chance that he was just trying to juxtapose what he knew of Claude’s sentiments onto someone else to make him feel better.

But Dima wasn’t even looking at him. Instead, he was looking down the hall, that pleasantly tame smile back on his lips. “Speaking of . . .”

Claude followed his gaze, quickly falling on a familiar blond figure just at the other end of the hall. Dimitri stood there awkwardly, hands fidgeting in front of him as if he wasn’t sure whether he was allowed to even consider joining them. It was weird; Claude hadn’t seen him that awkward since they were teens.

“He was looking for you.” Dima was close—too close—his breath shifting the hairs by Claude’s ears.

Claude jumped, staring back at Dima as he struggled for words. His tongue felt wrong in his mouth, entirely uncooperative as he tried to keep some semblance of decency. His failure only made his face hot with embarrassment.

Dima only smiled—that stupid, knowing smile that probably made the other Claude want to smack him on a regular basis.

“You,” Claude scowled, face definitely redder than he’d like, “you can’t say that doesn’t bother you.”

“Because you look like my Claude?” Dima hummed sweetly. “Does it bother you, that he’s not fully your Dimitri?”

“I . . .” Claude looked away. It bothered him that he couldn’t have this back home. It bothered him that he couldn’t bring Dimitri home with him. It bothered him that this was temporary. But it _didn’t_ bother him that this wasn’t the same Dimitri as the one he knew.

But he wasn’t sure that Dimitri felt the same. Dimitri, after all, still had a Claude back home. He still had a chance to have everything he wanted—everything he had wanted Dima to be able to return to.

Claude knew he didn’t want to know the answer.

“I imagine you both recognize you are not replacements for those in your worlds.” Dima said, voice soft enough so Dimitri couldn’t hear.

Claude glanced at him, frowning.

Dima opened his mouth before rethinking it. Instead, he sighed. “At least, I hope you can make the most of this arrangement. Even if you see it as temporary.”

Claude frowned. It _was_ temporary. There was no logical way he could stay in Askr forever. Either his home would need him once more, or the summoner would find someone better to replace him with.

Dima shook his head. Instead, he opened his door, speaking to the door instead. “Regardless, this is where we part ways.”

“Right.” Claude nodded, swallowing hard. “Well . . . thanks. For earlier.” He ran a hand through his hair. “And . . . congrats . . . on getting to go home.”

Dima smiled brightly, nodding before returning to his room, and leaving Claude by himself. Mostly by himself. He glanced down the hall, back to where Dimitri was likely still being unbearably awkward.

But he wasn’t there. Great.

Claude ran a hand through his hair, muttering to himself as he definitely did _not_ run down the halls. Considering the floor they were on, he could only imagine a handful of places Dimitri might go. A left, then a right. Then—

There he was. Dimitri’s form was rapidly retreating, but Claude was far faster. Too quickly, he closed the gap between them.

He opened his mouth to curse the man, but he was already panting and gasping for air. He _really_ needed to work on running more. Or just . . . have a horse or wyvern around at all times—which was an objectively better option.

Instead, his fingers curled into Dimitri’s cape, pulling back as hard as he could.

It wasn’t enough to so much as even unbalance the man, but it was at least enough to make him stop. Enough for Claude to hunch over, taking his time to try and keep his lungs from catching on fire.

“I . . .” Dimitri’s voice was so soft that Claude could barely hear it above his own breathing, “I did not expect you.”

“You were—hah— _right_ there!” Claude huffed, glaring up with as much ferocity he could muster past his absolute breathlessness.

“I thought, perhaps . . .”

“What?” Claude scowled, finally straightening himself and running his hand over his clothes to try to make himself any less embarrassingly disheveled. “What could have possibly made you—”

“I thought you might be more interested in spending time with ‘Dima’.” Even if Dimitri was bold enough to interrupt him, he couldn’t even look at Claude. His gaze was firmly fixed on the floor between his shoes.

“What?”

“He’s more—” Dimitri immediately flushed as his mouth snapped shut, entirely bypassing the cute pink blush and barreling straight to a nearly luminescent red.

Claude blinked, realizing one hand was still gripping onto Dimitri’s cape. He immediately dropped it in favor of crossing his arms in front of him. He already had _one_ Dimitri completely see through his pretense of dignity, he didn’t need that twice in one day.

“He saved me from our personal terrors.” Claude said, trying to keep his tone flat and not at all irate. “You know, after _someone_ left me to eat alone.”

Dimitri winced, the blush spreading across his ears now. “I admit I was delayed from training. It wasn’t . . . that late.”

Claude frowned, guilt setting heavy in his chest. It was like kicking a puppy. It wasn’t like Dimitri to do something like that intentionally. And if what Dima said was true . . . “He mentioned you were training so he could go home.”

“I, ah,” Dimitri cleared his throat, still not looking at Claude, “yes.”

Claude sighed. “I guess I can’t be too mad, then. It all worked out fine.”

He’d expected that to resolve it. To comfort Dimitri and take away any of the guilt or shame or anything in between. But it didn’t. Dimitri still stood there, weight shifting uncomfortably from side to side. The blush hadn’t died down either. Nor did that absolutely miserable look in his eye.

If Claude didn’t know any better, he’d say that the meal wasn’t the problem. But what was, then? What would possibly render Dimitri—a quite competent and proud king—into an insecure, uneasy mess? Acting like some horribly dejected teen than—

_Oh_.

It seemed . . . utterly unfathomable, but it was the only thing that made sense. He’d come to see Claude with an older Dimitri—one who clearly had been exceedingly competent in wooing his own Claude—and in the middle of a not unpleasant conversation. Claude couldn’t remember entirely what his face had been like, but he was sure it was at least amiable. And, from a distance, amiable could look like—well, that part didn’t matter.

What _did_ matter, though, was that Dimitri was jealous. Or at least he _seemed_ to be.

There was only one way to find out.

“Well, Dimitri,” he said, voice shifting just a bit lower as he leaned into Dimitri’s space, “I can think of a few ways you can make it up to me.”

~

Claude hummed softly, enjoying the feel of Dimitri’s pulse beneath his lips—barely above where he’d left a rather significant mark just above the collar. It was probably going to be hidden by that immense fluff of a cape, so he didn’t feel _too_ bad. Besides, it was Dimitri’s fault for keeping the stupid armor on. _And_ he was pretty sure Dimitri deserved it.

While Claude had been eager to satisfy himself with sweet and languid kisses, Dimitri was, well, not. No, he’d been practically ravenous—every kiss and every touch firm like it might be his last. Claude had certainly humored it—a little amused by the possessiveness—before he’d gotten Dimitri at ease. It had required Claude to crawl into his lap and curl his fingers into those long blonde strands, but _he_ certainly wasn’t complaining.

He pressed a line of kisses between Dimitri’s jaw and just above the collar, giving particular attention to where Dimitri’s skin was already splotched red. A part of him wanted to go lower, but he was rather disinclined to deal with the whole armor situation. So this small claim would have to do for now.

Besides, there was something innately soothing about kissing Dimitri. Perhaps it was how it just felt natural to be in his lap, to press kisses wherever he could reach. Or maybe it was because he wasn’t quite as desperate as the first time, where he didn’t feel like he was losing valuable time each time he pressed a languid kiss to Dimitri’s skin. Or maybe it was just the feel of the steady rhythm they’d fallen into, so easily sparing him from his own thoughts.

Dimitri hummed softly, his fingers gently taking Claude’s chin to pull him into a kiss. Claude didn’t protest, easily melting into it.

When he pulled back, though, Dimitri was smiling. Not that cute, pleased smile he had when Claude had first dragged him into the room—no, this was . . . amused, maybe? Smug, possibly.

Claude raised an eyebrow, not sure if he should be pleased or alarmed at that face. “What?”

Dimitri’s cheeks got just a little bit pinker. “I . . . I’ve never seen you so unkempt.” He cleared his throat. “You left before I could enjoy it last time.”

Claude blinked, fingers running through his hair. He didn’t think he was—oh. Okay. Maybe his hair was an absolute disaster. And his clothes, now that Claude looked at them, were a bit worse for wear. Not torn, exactly (he had to thank the open chest of his tunic for that), but certainly . . . not where they were supposed to be, from a practical clothing standpoint.

It was a little startling that he only realized this _now_. Sure, he actually had been caught off-guard by Dimitri’s eagerness, making a rather embarrassing noise as Dimitri had pressed him against the door, fingers curled into his hair to pull his head back for a nearly overwhelming kiss. Dimitri hadn’t overpowered him, exactly, but he certainly had made his desires known. Claude supposed he should be grateful that only his hair and clothes had mildly paid the price. Well, the ones he was still wearing, anyway (at this point he wasn’t even sure where his gloves were).

“In my defense,” Claude muttered, heat rising to his cheeks, “you were grabby.”

Dimitri’s hand cupped Claude’s cheek, encouraging another kiss. “Maybe I wished to keep you close.” He whispered, each word brushing against Claude’s lips.

“Mission accomplished.” Claude laughed. He tapped his fingers against the armor chestplate. “I’ll have you know I could have made a mess out of you if not for this.”

Dimitri hummed, eye half-lidded in a thoughtful expression. “Perhaps that’s by design.”

Claude felt his lip slide into a pout. “It wasn’t _that_ bad last time. No one could tell.”

“Perhaps,” Dimitri shifted close, pressing a kiss just beneath the line of Claude’s jaw, “I wished to dote on you.”

Claude hummed, not displeased at the sensation of lips against his skin and the soft rumble of Dimitri’s voice. His fingers curled into Dimitri’s hair, running through the strands in a way that he hoped would serve as encouragement.

He tensed the moment he felt teeth on his skin. “Not there!” He huffed, forcing a small laugh. “My collar won’t hide that!”

By the time he felt the smile against his skin, it was already too late. Dimitri’s mouth latched onto the curve of Claude’s throat, arms locked around his waist to hold him in place.

Claude hissed—though he wasn’t entirely sure if it was from pleasure or irritation. He tried to pull Dimitri away—already feeling the slight sting of Dimitri’s teeth and tongue—but it was to no avail. It didn’t matter how hard he pulled at Dimitri’s armor or hair, the man was insistent. Boorish, even, if he wished to entertain Felix’s favorite nickname.

But he had to admit it _was_ nice. Nice to feel wanted, claimed. Nice to know he’d have a pleasant reminder when he looked at himself in the mirror. Nice to know that people would look at him and have no illusions of the cause.

The second Dimitri finally, _finally_ ceased his adoring abuse, Claude jolted back as far as the hold would allow, clapping a hand over the spot—though admittedly he didn’t get very far. He couldn’t stop the giggle on his lips; _already_ he could feel the heat beneath his fingers, skin already sensitive to the touch.

“And I thought _I_ was the schemer.” He laughed. “You planned this.”

Dimitri’s lip quirked, just barely on the line of a smirk. He lifted one hand—the other still firmly keeping Claude in place—letting his fingers sliding over Claude’s before lacing them together. Like that, it was too easy for him to pull Claude’s hand away from his neck. Oh, and there was _definitely_ a mark already there, judging by the look in Dimitri’s eye.

“I merely,” Dimitri turned Claude’s hand, pressing a kiss to his wrist, “wished to look at you without doubting myself.” His lips brushed over the pulse there. “I didn’t wish to keep doubting that this . . . that this really happened.”

Any irritation that might have remained instantly dissolved. Claude could feel his face heat up, affection blooming in his chest. No, not just affection. Adoration.

“Is that all?” Claude asked, a bit breathless. He let a sly smile slide onto his lips. “Feel free to put reminders wherever you’d like.”

It was Dimitri’s turn to flush crimson. He glanced away, a sheepish smile on his lips. “I think,” idly (seemingly to distract himself), he kissed at Claude’s palm, then along each of his fingers, “one is more than I could ever ask for.”

Claude chuckled. “You’re too much sometimes.”

Dimitri smiled against his skin. “I apologize.”

Claude couldn’t resist the smile on his lips. It was hard to keep himself under control around Dimitri. Hard to see anything but the man he adored. Hard to keep his wits about him—to remember that this was temporary.

It made his chest ache.

“Does it bother you?” Claude muttered, the words past his lips before he could rein them in.

“Hm?”

“That this . . .” Claude rubbed his face with his free hand, “that we . . .”

Dimitri frowned slightly. “It’s not like you to struggle for words.”

He couldn’t look Dimitri in the eye like this. “That I’m not . . . the one you fell in love with. That I’m just a stand in.”

He felt Dimitri go tense. His hand slowly slipped away from between Claude’s fingers, letting Claude’s hand fall there.

Lovely. This was how his bliss was going to end. Not in battle. Not because the summoner needed to send one of them home. But because Claude couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

Dimitri’s hand cupped his cheek. “Is that how you think I see you?”

Claude tried to resist the urge to lean into it—hoping he could spare his heart before it wounded him more—but he wasn’t a strong enough man. “Isn’t that what this is?”

Dimitri exhaled softly, His thumb brushed gently over Claude’s cheekbone. “It’s not.”

Claude frowned.

“You don’t believe me.” It wasn’t even a question. It was a statement, a fact. One that Claude couldn’t deny, even as Dimitri’s expression fell slightly. He looked . . . it wasn’t hurt, but it was definitely close.

What was he supposed to say? He knew Dimitri only fell for him because he missed the Claude back home—because he thought he didn’t even have a chance there. And it wasn’t like Dimitri was oblivious to his chances now; he’d even promised Claude that he’d pursue his doppelganger when he eventually did return home. Claude here was just . . . a way to pass the time until that happened. A position he was fine taking.

“Claude.” Dimitri sighed, taking Claude’s hand again to press a kiss to his wrist. “The Claude back home . . . I only knew him as a student. He was a schemer, a boy sharper than I knew I gave him credit for. I admired it, but I was too stuck in my own mind for anything more. When I learned that he . . . he was willing to put his life on the line with his trust, I was reminded of the things I had admired about him. I wanted to see if there was anything more. And . . . I admit that, when I return home, I will likely still pursue him.”

Claude tried to keep himself unaffected, but he knew he couldn’t hide the small twitch of his shoulders. He opened his mouth to respond—that he _knew_ , that it was fine, that he didn’t care—but Dimitri cut him off.

“I will pursue him, I will not deny it. I do not wish to break my promise to you, when the time comes. But . . . being near you has made me love you, more than I ever could have fathomed. And I . . . I wish to be able to enjoy your affections for as long as possible. So long as you’ll have me.”

Claude swallowed hard.

Back home, he’d fallen in love with what _could_ have been. What could have happened if he was a better tactician. What they could have done if Dimitri hadn’t lost his mind to vengeance. But this was different. When he thought of being with Dimitri—and everything that entailed—it was _this_ Dimitri. The one here, in his arms.

“But if,” Dimitri pressed his lips together, eyebrows scrunched like it was physically painful to speak, “if you do not believe me, then I will not . . . I will not force you to stay with me.”

Claude cupped Dimitri’s cheeks, letting his thumb run over the edges of knotted scars that obscured his bad eye. Dimitri had been exceedingly careful about the eyepatch their first night together—just about as cautious as Claude had been about looking decent—but it had been lost sometime during their more heated kisses. That eyepatch was probably in the same place as Claude’s gloves. And yet Dimitri didn’t seem to mind it at all, a soft hum passing his lips at Claude’s gentle touches.

Claude leaned in for another kiss. He let it linger, hoping that was answer enough. Considering how Dimitri’s arms wrapped around him once more, he figured the man got the message.

“Sorry.” Claude said, voice soft and uncertain. “About that.”

Dimitri sighed softly, his smile fond. “I can think of a few ways you can make it up to me.”

~

Claude sighed, letting his gaze wander. For as special as the summoning stone was, how critical it was to the operation of this place, it was almost funny that he’d never come here after his arrival. Certainly the runes and magic that resonated in this place would keep him entertained for days. Perhaps he would find something here that even the people of Askr didn’t know.

But even now he felt the resonating anxiety of that first day. The fear of not being in control of himself, of being surrounded by people who he couldn’t decipher as either enemy or ally. The fact that he wasn’t naturally bothered by it had been unnerving.

But if it wasn’t for this place, he never would have found Dimitri.

“Are you okay?” Dimitri asked, voice soft and low in Claude’s ear.

Claude grinned, glad he wasn’t jumping every time Dimitri’s voice surprised him anymore. “Completely. Why?”

Dimitri smiled, his eyes falling on their fingers laced between them. Where—much to his dismay—Claude might have been squeezing Dimitri’s hand a bit too hard.

Claude pulled back, cheeks warm. “Sorry.”

Dimitri took his hand again without hesitation, like it was made to be there. “I don’t mind.”

It was hard not to smile around this guy. Lest Claude look like a lovesick fool, though, he let his gaze wander around the rest of the area.

There were their younger selves, chatting amiably as they looked anywhere but at Dimitri and Claude. And there was Sylvain and Felix—Felix looking about half as furious as Claude had expected. And there were a few other warriors—mostly ones Claude had yet to inquire about—then a couple of the Nabitean children.

It was remarkable, really, how many people Dima had an impact on.

“I did not expect so many to come.” Dima mused, stepping up along Claude’s open side.

Claude grinned. “I, for one, don’t know what we’ll do without you.”

Dima smiled, eye falling on their linked hands. “I think you’ll manage fine.”

“Yeah, don’t worry.” It was hard not to twitch every time Claude’s younger self approached, but it was getting much easier as of late. The boy nudged his Dimitri with a wink. “We’ll behave, right? Bigger picture and all that.”

It was almost remarkable how all the Dimitris had the same absolutely disbelieving look on their faces.

Dima sighed. “Do try to recall that your elder is far more advanced in his . . . concoctions than you are. My husband was able to incapacitate an entire army without ever raising his bow. I have no doubt that this Claude would manage the same.”

Huh. So that was how he’d convinced them. Well, it was good to know that Claude only had to let a mild poison slip and it would set his younger version right again.

The younger Dimitri put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. I will ensure he behaves.”

Dima smiled. “I’m pleased to hear it.”

The area around them fell to silence and hushed whispers, cutting into their conversation. It was clear that the summoner had arrived.

With a small smile, Dima bowed. “I am grateful for the perspective you have given me. I hope . . . I will get to retain it when I return home.”

Claude opened his mouth to comment, but found his thoughts lost as a bright light flowed through the area like an ocean’s wave. He huffed, rubbing his eyes to try to blink away the lights still lingering in his vision.

A voice slid through the murmurs, the sound like a hammer in Claude’s skull. “I’m Claude von Riegan.”

Claude’s gaze snapped up, falling on _another_ him. The man leaned close to the summoner, flirty smile on his lips as he whispered something into the summoner’s ear. It was enough to recognize that demeanor, those clothes, the openly-careless expression on his face.

To this new Claude, the war had just ended. He hadn’t fully yet absorbed its consequences, but he was certainly close. A couple more years of letting it linger in his mind, then he’d be the same as Claude here. There was no guarantee that he _wasn’t_ the same, just pulled a step sooner in time.

And that time had made all the difference.

“Well,” Dima pat Claude’s shoulder, lips pressed tightly together if only to restrain his amusement, “good luck.”

Claude could only gape as Dima went to speak with the summoner, offering a small bow to the utterly-befuddled new Claude.

“Oh, goddess.” Dimitri breathed.

Claude’s gaze flicked back up, an impulsive tease on his tongue lest the spark of jealousy turn into something more. But Dimitri wasn’t even looking at the new Claude. No, his focus was entirely on the young Claude in front of him. A Claude who, much to everyone’s dismay, looked like he’d just been thrown the most delicious feast.

Claude groaned, holding his face in his hands.

In the distance, he could make out Sylvain’s raucous laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, many thanks to [@natbucks](https://twitter.com/natbucks) for the support!

**Author's Note:**

> As always, please feel free to reach out to me on Twitter! [@kayisdreaming ](https://twitter.com/kayisdreaming).


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